Are we serving food that lives up to the rest of the experience?

I think a lot about golf club menus, lately I have been thinking about bacon baps particularly.

I’m certainly not on a mission to get rid bacon baps, but because it says something about the habits we form in golf club hospitality, and how tricky they can be to shift.

I worry golf club catering and menus are often constructed to make the kitchen’s life easier, rather than being as member focused and golfer first as I think it could be…

There are plenty of reasons the humble bap (or the burger, or the sausage roll) has become such a fixture. It’s easy to prep, quick to serve, cost-effective, and doesn’t require a big brigade to pull off. It suits a day playing golf; add a sachet of ketchup and a flat white, and it ticks the box for a quick pit stop before or after a round.

And let’s be honest, food isn’t the main event at most clubs. The course is. The golf is. That’s where the pride and investment usually go, and rightly so.

But I still think it’s worth asking: are we serving food that lives up to the rest of the experience?

So much goes into golf clubs, the course, the clubhouse, all of the touchpoints… a forgettable bap might feel like a weak link. Not disastrous. Just a bit underwhelming. And for clubs with the volume, the kitchen, and the people to do more, it might be time to challenge that default.

This isn’t about judging anyone’s operation. Every club is under pressure, and there’s no one-size-fits-all answer. But I do think there’s a growing case for raising the bar, and that doing so might not just be possible, but strategic.

The food we serve doesn’t sit in a vacuum. We’re living in a time where younger members and visitors are spending more on experiences than ever before. They care about where their food comes from. They’re surrounded by choice — from sourdough pizzas and bao buns to seasonal small plates and quality street food. Their idea of “good” is shaped by everything from weekend brunch spots to Instagram stories.

So when they walk into a club with a premium brand, sit down on a sunny terrace with a great view, and are served something you wouldn’t order at a motorway services, I worry that feels hollow.

Not just in that moment, but in how they experience the club as a whole.

Food is never just food. It’s culture. It’s brand. It’s memory. A club that serves thoughtful, seasonal, well-presented food isn’t just delivering a nicer lunch, it’s creating an identity. One that younger members want to be part of. One that guests talk about. One that supports the idea of the club as a third place, not just a golf venue.

That doesn’t mean throwing out the staples or going fine dining. It just means asking better questions. Could the bap be upgraded — soft brioche, well-cooked bacon, chilli jam? Could the burger be something we’re proud of — like a proper street food-style smash burger, cooked fresh and full of flavour? Could there be two or three dishes that show we care?

When food becomes something people talk about, it changes how they use the space. It encourages non-golfers to join for lunch. It keeps members hanging around for a drink. It makes Friday nights feel worth dressing up for. It opens the door to a whole different level of engagement.

And that’s not just nice to have — it’s revenue. Higher spend per head. Better drink attach rates. More repeat visits. A real reason to stay, bring guests, and recommend the club.

So yes, I think clubs with the right conditions — decent footfall, a usable kitchen, a team that’s open to trying something new — should up their game.

Not to be fancy. But to be relevant. Because the people we’re trying to attract and retain are already telling us what matters to them.

It’s definitely not about scrapping the bacon bap; but it might be time to ask whether it still reflects the kind of club we’re trying to be?

Quick one — if you’ve not done this yet, my scorecard helps you spot gaps across guest experience, costs, and day-to-day ops. Takes a few minutes and you’ll get a proper report at the end.